


Silver's Holding Steady, Gold is Up

by Cousin Shelley (CousinShelley)



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Banter, F/M, Feelings Realization, First Time, Getting Together, Neck Kissing, Nerdiness, Politics, Referenced bigotry, Wall Sex, corporate shenanigans, referenced homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinShelley/pseuds/Cousin%20Shelley
Summary: While showing Neal the power of her Bloomberg terminal, Sloan starts to see him differently.
Relationships: Sloan Sabbith/Neal Sampat
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7
Collections: Writing Rainbow Silver





	Silver's Holding Steady, Gold is Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/gifts).



Sloan glanced between her phone and the two monitors in front of her, adrenalin singing through her veins. She wanted to grab someone, anyone, from the newsroom and show them what was happening, but most people couldn’t appreciate the experience or didn’t care. 

Neal came through her door with a sheaf of papers in his hand, placed a couple on her desk and said, “By the way, new sighting yesterday. Northwest Oregon.” 

“What?” She didn’t look away from the graph she’d been watching for twenty minutes. 

“Hunters got some shaky cam footage that doesn't show much, but their reactions are believable. Probably one of the most credible sightings in recent memory.” Neal’s Bigfoot statistics and sighting updates had become the way he greeted people lately. It was annoying, yet kind of cute. Sloan understood stubborn.

“Good morning to you, too,” she mumbled. 

“ _Oh_.” Neal ran a finger along the top edge of the monitor closest to him. “This _is_ amazing.”

He hadn’t been in her office since she’d gotten the Bloomberg terminal, had he? And had she ever heard him make a sound like that before? “Don’t touch it!”

“I can’t touch it?”

“No.”

“Because?”

Sloan scoffed at herself for being ridiculous. “Okay, you can touch it. Gently.” 

Neal didn’t touch it again, but leaned over and examined the screen. “So you can see when things like silver and gold and pork bellies go up and down?”

“You’re thinking too small. Commodities are steady with a few notable exceptions. What’s exciting is the relationship between an event and the value of stock, the cause and effect volatility. With this, I can see . . . all of it.” She almost ran her hand along the top of the monitor and gasped like Neal had. 

“This is a seriously impressive machine. The processing power alone must be—”

“Neal,” she said to stop him. She’d wanted someone to share her excitement with, and here he was. “ _You’re_ smart.”

“Um, thank you?”

She grabbed his sleeve and hauled him close, pointing to a line on a graph. 

“You’re about to see the power of public opinion in real time. See that line? It’s the stock price for Plain Jane Jeans. It’s steadily ascended for months thanks to a no frills ad campaign that appeals to the middle class, their history of charitable giving, and several A-list celebrities wearing their jeans to shop on Rodeo Drive or Fifth Avenue or to make a Sunday morning Starbucks run. A report just came out that Phillip Blair, CEO of the company, has made sizable donations to Senator Tomkins’ reelection campaign. Minutes later . . .”

She pointed to the steep drop in the line. 

“Tomkins? The anti-gay, anti-Muslim, anti-woman, free speech—”

“That’s him. All those months of steady climbing, and as soon as the news broke, it dropped off a cliff. Cause and effect.”

“I can’t say I understand all that much about the financial markets, but that’s pretty easy to grasp.”

“Right?”

“But can’t anyone watch that stock on a regular computer?”

“Yes. But they can't get into the Bloomberg data service, so they can’t do this.” Sloan cracked her knuckles, and liked the grin Neal gave her for it. A few clicks and keystrokes later, and both monitors were filled with hundreds of numbers, all changing rapidly, along with numbers and conclusions that she could analyze but laymen couldn't. “This is how it’s affecting other related stocks, revealing shareholder confidence in similar companies, and where they’re reinvesting the money they just regained by selling their PJJ shares.”

Neal’s eyes widened as he tried to take it all in. “Wow. Okay. Can’t do that on my laptop.”

The line rallied a tick or two as they watched, Neal’s cheek close enough to hers she should have been uncomfortable, but she’d been the one to yank him over there, hadn’t she? Sloan surprised herself—his closeness didn’t bother her. In fact, she liked it and the way he squinted at the monitor as if really trying to make sense of what he saw. 

Her phone chimed. This was going to be great. “Hard-right politicians are defending Blair and urging people to buy jeans. Senator Graham is about to do a press conference while wearing a pair. Senator _Graham_ —you know he had to send a PA out to buy them but he’ll pretend they’re his casual weekend wear because Blair has also donated to _his_ campaign. Here’s hoping they’re ridiculously tight or baggy just for fun. The calls for a boycott are gaining steam—”

“Do those work? Boycotts?”

“Define _work_.”

“People actually stop buying stuff they like?”

“No, most don’t. It’s a feel-good tactic forgotten a few minutes later, like when people say they’ll pray for you but never think about you or your problems again. But the actual call for a boycott can work because stockholders think it might and start dumping their shares.”

Neal nodded. “So the real damage isn’t actually brought on by consumer habits, it’s all—”

“Perception.”

The line turned again, heading almost straight down. She dragged him closer, and they leaned toward the monitor. She read off her phone: “Seven Members of Board call for Plain Jane Jeans CEO Phillip Blair to Resign. Unnamed sources within the company admit that Blair has made statements that the “Satanic gay agenda” must be fought and will never be allowed to take hold at his company. Critics are citing this as proof of discriminatory hiring practices. Blair, in a written statement, said that his religious freedoms are being attacked and that he would donate to Tomkins’ campaign again if given the chance.”

“Wow.”

“He’s gone-zo within a week. When the announcement is made that he’s being replaced, the company will apologize, the new CEO will make a statement repudiating Tomkins’ beliefs and stress that PJJ stands on non-discrimination and welcomes LGBT employees and customers, and if they do it all quickly enough the line will start to crawl back up.”

“Meanwhile, Blair’s out a job that probably earned him millions a year.”

“He’ll get a severance package that could support a small island economy and no longer have the stress of running a publicly owned company.“

“Almost sounds like a sweet deal.”

She turned to face him and realized how little space was between them. “If you want to be hated by every liberal and glad-handed by every conservative. I guess.”

“If you were worth tens of millions of dollars, would you care?” He glanced at her lips, then back to her eyes. 

She shrugged one shoulder. It was hard to think about moral dilemmas and even the excitement of the PJJ implosion with Neal this close. 

“So, uh, Sloan.”

“Yeah?” She leaned closer.

“Equal time for Bigfoot statistics?”

She groaned and watched the graph again. “I didn’t force you to watch this.”

“You almost manhandled me into your lap then launched into an explanation before I could escape! I think you stretched my sweater.”

“You enjoyed it!”

“Wait, the manhandling . . . or—”

“Watching the stock." She frowned. "Though maybe the other. I don’t know your thing.”

Neal cleared this throat. “I enjoyed watching the stock, but that's beside the point.”

When had she taken to manhandling Neal? Was it when she’d shoved him against the wall, twice, after he’d asked about dissing her online for an experiment. She really had yanked him over to show him the stock drop. And he didn’t exactly protest that he hadn’t liked that part of it, either.

“Okay, that’s fair.” She glanced at the time. “You've watched this maybe fifteen minutes.”

“More like twenty.”

“Fine.”

“When?”

“Don’t push it. Soon.”

He straightened and gave her a little salute. She watched him leave, then turned back to the terminal to watch the CEO destroy the company he’d worked so hard to put on the map. The line kept dropping, no rally in sight, and Senator Graham looking awkward in a pair of blue jeans wasn’t likely to change that. After ten minutes, it was much less fun than it had been before Neal had come into her office. 

And it was a lot less fun than when he’d watched with her, making comments and asking questions. 

She stretched her neck side to side and stood, the need for a walk or at least a break from sitting at her desk obvious in the little twinge between her shoulder blades. She headed for the newsroom, maybe for a brief chat with Maggie or to trade a few soft barbs with Don. 

Or to see Neal. When she walked into the newsroom, two faces turned up toward her, and a look passed between those two people like they shared a secret joke. Suddenly she had her excuse to get back into Neal’s personal space. 

_Why do I think I need an excuse?_

She strode through the newsroom. “Sampat!’ she said as she passed Neal’s desk. She didn’t turn. He’d follow her. 

He caught up in a few steps. “Are we . . . you want the Bigfoot presentation now?”

She let him think maybe that was the case until she found an empty room that didn’t have a glass door and walls. It was some kind of a supply closet, but barely used judging by the lack of shelves or supplies and various pockets of jumbled clutter. She closed and locked the door. 

“Not yet. I want to know who started it.”

“Who started . . . Bigfoot rumors?”

“You admit they’re rumors?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I—”

“Who started _her Bloomberg Boyfriend_?”

“Ah,” Neal whispered. “That.”

“That.” She’d overheard an employee she didn’t know well saying it to someone on the phone several days ago, and didn’t find that person worth yelling at. But she'd heard it twice more, whispered in hush tones when people thought she wasn't paying attention. _She never comes out of her office anymore unless she's going on the air, too busy with her Bloomberg boyfriend._ It was true she’d rarely emerged since they bought her the terminal, but there was a slight learning curve and she wanted to get up to speed as soon as possible. Though she had yelled at Neal for even touching it. She supposed they had a point, but she didn’t have to like it. 

"So who was it?"

“I genuinely don’t know. By the time I heard it I think it had been around for a while. I'm not exactly the first person to hear office gossip.”

“Who’d you hear it from?” She stepped closer to him. He didn’t back up.

“I don’t remember, Sloan. Does it matter? Of all the things someone could say, that’s hardly the worst.”

“You’ve heard worse?”

“No, god no. I just mean . . . I get it. It’s fascinating and kind of hard to look away from once you start to understand it.”

“I understand all of it.”

“That’s my point. I can see why you spend so much time at it. It’s amazing. And so what if people joke about it being your boyfriend. It's not like you couldn't have any number of boyfriends if you wanted them, and it’s probably better for you than anybody you’ve dated recently anyway.”

“What the—”

He put his hands up. “I just mean that it’s always there when you want it to be, you can walk away from it anytime you choose, and it’s unlikely to ever let you down.”

Any anger she'd been brewing disappeared. Neal got it. He really did. She put a hand in the center of his chest and pushed him slowly backward. "Sounds like a good boyfriend. And so sexy."

"I agree. That is one seriously sexy computer system."

 _Was I talking about the terminal?_ "Yeah. That, too."

Neal's mouth dropped open. His back touched the wall. “Sloan, are we—”

“We’re not going to talk about Bloomberg or Bigfoot right now.”

“Didn't think so.” Neal was perceptive. Sloan liked that. 

He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her into a kiss. 

His arms came around her waist as she looped hers around his neck. He started to pull her down but she shook her head, never breaking the kiss. The carpet was specked with tiny bits of fuzz, foam or paper, probably from unpacking office supplies, and the few shelves there were coated in dust. She definitely didn’t want to lie on the floor, and mumbled into the kiss _so dirty._

He laughed against her mouth, and when she shook her head and pulled back to clarify what she was talking about, he said, “I _know_ you mean the floor.”

He turned them so her back was against the wall and lifted her, pinning her there with his body weight as he kissed her. Sloan experienced a moment of gratitude that she’d opted for a dress instead of slacks as she wrapped her legs around his hips. She hooked her fingers under the edge of the hem to drag it up her thighs. 

What had taken her so long? He’d hinted a time or two, once saying he wouldn’t have complained about her breasts on display when they were talking about troll comments, and he was easily one of the smartest people in the newsroom. He was handsome, but without the arrogance that often came with too much self-confidence. 

And he kissed her like she was something delicate and easily broken one minute, and like a hungry animal the next. He got a hand between them to unzip his slacks, her hands clawing into his ass to pull him forward. When he pushed inside her, Sloan tightened her legs around him and used the wall as leverage to drive herself forward, nearly toppling them both. Neal leaned forward and held on. 

“God,” he grunted, thrusting up and forward to keep from falling backward. She pushed again, and he fucked back almost like they were in a fight to see who could unseat the other from their spot first. 

It was _perfect_. 

Sloan hadn’t done this often, maybe once or twice in her life, and had never been that comfortable with the loss of control of being held against a wall this way. With Neal, there was no loss of control. It was a mutual struggle, a give and take, more physical than most sex she'd had in years, that drove her higher, faster, than she could have imagined. He cupped her cheek and nuzzled her ear, his lips dragging down her throat. 

One last push, and Sloan flattened her back against the wall, head tilted backward as far as possible, as the pleasure washed through her. Neal thrust forward kissed her neck as he came just a second later. She cupped the back of his head, fingers probably too tight in his hair, while his tongue pressed into her skin and he sucked. She almost told him not to leave a bruise. Then she realized he wouldn’t, because he understood her in a way almost nobody else there did. 

She could trust him. 

When he lowered Sloan, Neal gave her only a second on her feet before he kissed her again, slower and softer than before. She put her hands on each side of his face when he leaned back, holding him there to fully take in his slightly damp forehead and flushed cheeks. To look him directly in the eye. 

“There’s no statistical evidence that Bigfoot exists,” she said softly with as much gravitas as she could muster while her thighs were still trembling.

Neal laughed. “I still want equal time to present the evidence that's actually out there.”

“It’s all anecdotal, and people’s perception and memory are highly flawed.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

“Makes it highly improbable.”

“Everything’s improbable until it isn’t. I thought you and I making love in a supply closet was highly improbable, right up until the moment it happened.”

She started to correct him. To say _having sex_ instead _._ Then she realized she didn't mind the phrase after all. "You thought about it long enough to decide it was improbable?"

"Not what I meant. Missed the point." He sucked his lips between his teeth, then tilted his head. "Okay, maybe once or twice. Though more often in a car."

"I don't own a car. Do you?"

"No."

"Weird."

"I've been called worse," he said with a grin. 

"Me, too." Sloan touched her fingertip to his chest. “Tonight, my place. Bring your best Bigfoot game, son, and I’ll use numbers and probabilities and statistics to take your arguments apart like an angry badger attacking wet tissue paper.”

He laughed, and Sloan realized how lovely it was to have someone laugh with her without a even a hint of laughing at her. 

“Sounds like fun.” Neal straightened his clothes, while Sloan smoothed down her dress.

He followed her out of the closet. Sloan stopped him a few steps before they reached the newsroom. “If you knew who started the Bloomberg boyfriend thing, you wouldn’t even tell me, would you?”

Neal shrugged. “Probably depends on whether you’re threatening me more or them. You can be a little scary.”

Sloan smiled. “I actually like you.”

“Thank god.” Neal opened the door for her, and as she walked through the newsroom she passed the clerk whom she’d overheard talking about her on the phone. She slapped the back of his head. 

“I hear you whispering about me one more time, I’m going to throw your image up during a story about necrophiliacs fucking corpses in funeral homes next time I fill in for Elliot. Oops, wrong photo, but damage already done.”

She strode away at his horrified whisper of, “You wouldn’t.” Before she left the room she glanced back to enjoy the fear on his face but instead noticed Neal watching her, laughing. He pressed his hands together as if in prayer and slightly bowed in her direction.

She smiled all the way back to her office at the idea that Neal knew her well enough to know she _would_ do it, and clearly approved. When she sat at her desk, ready to once again get lost in the numbers, she slid her finger along the bottom edge of the monitor. 

“I still love you, but I don’t think you’re my boyfriend. At least, not my only one." Sloan leaned back and put her feet up on the desk. "We'll make it work,” she whispered. Then she Googled _Bigfoot sightings_ and started making notes. 


End file.
